


When It Rains It Pours

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Recovered Memories, Season 4 but different, Tell me if I forgot anything, Trauma, wrote this half asleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: After the Nogitsune drama, things are getting better. Everything is super. Until the murders happen, at least. Peter feels like he's being mocked by the universe, when one bad thing after the other happens. He ends up with a tomahawk in his chest, gets some unpleasant memories back, has to deal with a very alive Kate Argent and can't really understand, why Stiles likes to spend time with him. But everything is super. Kind of.Or: An alternative season 4 story line with Peter NOT collaborating with the woman responsible for his trauma, Derek NOT enjoying using a blowtorch on Peter, and with trauma actually playing a role for the plot.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 259





	When It Rains It Pours

Not for the first time, Peter has the feeling the universe decided to punish him every time he dares to feel a hint of happiness. And he is getting pretty tired of it. 

First, once the Nogitsune is gone, it seems like everything gets better.

His packbonds, beforehand fickle and volatile, become more stable. Derek’s eyes don’t scream murder at him anymore. Scott even calls him occasionally, to ask about werewolf etiquette or a certain Supernatural creature. In return, Peter tones his usual spitefulness down a bit. 

The most interesting development involves Stiles. He makes it a habit to visit Peter in his apartment unannounced, a bright grin on his face and amber eyes sparkling. He brings fast food and dvds, telling Peter they are going to catch up, since he missed so many good movies while being in a coma. Peter is surprised, but he agrees. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _Stiles is doing this, because the others are avoiding him since he's been possessed, and I don't care_. It's still nice.

They start to have regular movie evenings, sitting close together on Peter’s couch and sharing popcorn. Stiles doesn’t shy away when Peter scent marks him once experimentally, and so he does it again, until it’s a habit too. Being with Stiles like this is surprisingly nice. It feels like pack bonding, but it’s also more. After a while, Stiles even stays overnight, napping on the couch. _Apparently_ , Peter wonders while watching Stiles’ snoring and drooling on a pillow, _he really likes to be here. To spend time with me._

It seems so unlikely, but Peter decides to enjoy it as long as it lasts. Stiles is good company. Smart, witty and attentive. Their relationship reaches a new level of interesting, when they play chess and Peter beats Stiles in about 30 seconds. Peter is delighted, when Stiles tries to learn anything there is to learn about chess, just to be able to beat Peter. He is determined and their bickering is refreshing. Peter looks at Stiles' concentrated face, looks at how the tip of his tongue is barely visible between his lips, and he feels good. Maybe even happy. Definitely satisfied.

So, yes, things are getting better for quite a while. 

Then, the murders start.

Someone kills supernatural creatures. Wendigos, shapeshifters … they make no difference. Derek is attacked and says he saw Kate but he isn’t sure if it was real. Peter quickly decides to believe the latter.

Next, the vault is robbed. A huge amount of Peter’s money disappears. Berserkers appear. Mindless, violent warriors, difficult to fight. Almost impossible to kill. 

Blow follows blow. 

It all reaches its peak - or at least Peter thinks so at that point, of course he doesn’t know what will happen soon - when Derek has to burn wolfsbane out of a wound in his chest, coming from a freaking tomahawk. 

The second Peter sees the blowtorch in Derek’s raised hand, his insides seem to turn into ice water and his mind literally goes up in flames, as every single repressed memory seems to resurface at once. 

Derek hesitates, his frown deepening and his eyes flickering to the blue-violet flame. 

“Just do it,” Peter grits out, holding on to the edge of the table he is leaning against firmly, feeling his claws itching under the skin. He can feel his control slipping. A moment longer, and he might lose it, fleeing the loft. He can’t let that happen. The wolfsbane needs to be burned out. There is no other option right now. 

Derek swallows. But his eyes fill with determination and he approaches with the blowtorch. It keeps every ounce of control Peter still has, to not flinch back from the hissing flame. 

The first touch of the fire is cold, not hot. A moment later, the pain is sharp and white. The wolf inside him trashes and Peter can’t keep the fangs and claws back any longer. He chokes on a scream, claws digging into the wood and fangs piercing his lips until he tastes blood. 

The fire burns, burns, burns into his skin, flesh and mind. A burst of old and new fear makes Peter tremble and groan. He closes his eyes, willing the memories away. But they keep coming. Memories of blazing flames and black smoke carrying wolfsbane. Memories of his youngest niece reaching out for him with her tiny hands, calling his name again and again, a neverending echo. 

When Derek is done, he stumbles backwards, eyes wide and jaw tense. He puts the blowtorch away with a disgusted noise. 

When Derek opens his mouth and starts to say, “I’m so -”, Peter raises a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he grits out. “Just … don’t.” 

Derek says nothing. He just watches as Peter puts his shirt back on and leaves the loft with fast steps, aware it looks like an escape. 

* * *

Once he arrives in the relative safety of his apartment, Peter allows himself to break down. The scream of his niece still echoes in his head. It makes him wish he could shut himself off. He paces the living room restlessly, pulling at his own hair and considering getting drunk on Scotch and wolfsbane, but he’s had enough of wolfsbane for the day. He ends up ripping some stupid pillow apart with his claws, barking out obsenities, until suddenly, there is a knock at the door. 

Peter freezes, perking up. He sniffs and grimaces. It’s Stiles. Of course it has to be Stiles.

For a long moment, Peter considers not opening the door. But then he does anyway. 

Stiles has his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jacket. He eyes Peter and clears his throat. “Hey. Uh. I heard what happened. Are you alright?” 

Peter nods curtly, hoping he doesn't look too dishevelled. “Yes. Thank you.” The lie comes over his lips easily.

Stiles frowns. “You don’t look alright,” he says carefully, starting to fidget with his sleeves. “If you want to talk, I could…”

“Stiles!” Peter interrupts him sharply, “I’m alright, okay? Look, I’m not some fragile, broken thing you have to repair. I don’t need pity. I don’t need to be coddled. Don’t come here and expect me to cry in your arms or something, you get that?” 

The moment the words are out, Peter feels like an asshole. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation. Talia once told him he has a special talent for destroying things that are good for him.

Stiles blinks a few times. He nods, his smile faltering until it is not there at all. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Got it.” He then turns around and walks away slowly, his shoulders hunched up. 

Peter looks after him and hates himself. 

Himself and the stupid universe. 

* * *

When it rains it pours. 

It all gets worse in a short amount of time. 

One day, Peter finds himself sitting opposite of a Banshee, her hand on his cheek. Meredith looks confused for a moment. “The burns. They're all... gone,” she eventually whispers, her voice soft. 

Peter is frozen in place. He doesn’t understand. Until he does. Until he remembers.

The flashbacks come sudden and violent. He is back in a coma, not able to move a single limb. People move around him, touch him, talk about him. The pain of the snapped packbonds is unbearable. It makes his wolf howl in sorrow. Pain and sorrow are his only companions for a long time, until they are replaced by burning rage and the longing for vengeance. 

Peter curses everyone and everything. He curses his naive sister, who thought they were safe just because of some pieces of paper, signed by humans. She never listened to his warnings. She never wanted to fucking listen, and now she is dead. She is ash. Her Alpha spark is gone, probably settled in Laura who wasn’t there when the fire raged, and Laura … She left him. She abandoned him. His Alpha left him behind like a wounded useless animal. 

Peter listens to his wolf’s howls and slowly drowns in the rage, until nothing else is left. 

In his mind, he paints pictures of murder and revenge. A bloody mess. He paints and someone listens. Someone overhears his thoughts. A banshee, lying in a bed close to his. It happens because of a coincidence. 

The banshee listens as Peter paints the picture of a list. A list of all supernatural creatures. Why shouldn’t they suffer like he does? 

They all should suffer too. 

Peter snaps out of it with a gasp, and frowns when he stares right into the dark barrel of a gun. He looks at the person holding it. It’s the Sheriff. Noah Stilinski, Stiles’ father points his gun at him, while everyone else looks at them in horror and confusion. Meredith sits on her chair, looking serene and humming quietly. 

“It was you. You gave her the idea,” Lydia gasps, eyes wide. Derek looks from her to Peter and back, his eyes wide and disbelieving. 

Peter scowls. “How the hell was I supposed to remember any of that?” he asks, slowly getting up. Noah’s gun follows his movement. 

“You endangered all of these kids. Parrish. My son,” Noah says, his voice low and trembling with anger, “Is this why you killed the assassin with the tomahawk? Because you didn’t want him to spill the beans in some way?” 

Peter can’t believe it. “Do I really have to remind you that I was attacked by that guy? He almost killed me!” 

“Yeah, well,” Scott chimes in, his arms crossed, “you might have set that up. To fool us.” 

Peter doesn’t even know what to say to that. He feels numb. “I wasn’t in my right mind back then,” he grits out. “I was in a coma, I couldn’t move or talk, I was alone and I just lost my family! Do you have any idea what it is like, to be in a coma, but to still have heightened senses?! It’s hell!” 

“Still. Who knows what else you are responsible for,” Noah says, not lowering the gun. “And you can’t get away with everything. Not even you. I’m going to arrest you for murder. Hands up and behind your head.” 

This is ridiculous. Peter doesn’t know if he is supposed to cry or laugh. Before he can decide, Stiles’ voice cuts through the sudden silence. “Woah, wait a moment, what do you think you are doing, Dad? What do you all think you are doing?!” Stiles’ eyes are blazing. He grabs Noah’s sleeve and pulls his arm down. The Sheriff looks at him, his lips a tight grim line. 

“Stiles, he is responsible for the lists, for the assassins,” Scott says urgently. 

“You can’t hold him accountable for that, he wasn’t in his right mind, just like he told you!” Stiles hisses. “He had third and fourth degree burns all over his body, had to witness his family burning alive, had his packbonds snapped, was abandoned by Laura and Derek and was not visited even once for years! And you want to hold him accountable for some stupid angry thoughts he had? What the hell! How about a little understanding? Would you think about sunshine and flowers after going through so much trauma?” 

Peter feels a little better at that. He didn’t expect any backup. But Stiles looks determined and if looks could kill, Scott would drop dead. The Alpha actually ducks a bit, when Stiles nudges him. “Peter helped with Jackson, he helped with the Nogitsune and he helped you with your monsters of the week! He tried to be helpful and to be part of the pack, because that’s what he needs to not become Omega, and you don’t even want to listen to him?!” 

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Scott says quietly, glancing at Peter, “I don’t know if he’s not planning anything else we don’t know about.” 

“I’m right here,” Peter says coldly. “You can just ask me.” 

Scott chews on his lip, but he doesn’t say anything. They all just look at him, uncertain. Worried. Stiles is still holding on to his father's arm, staring at Peter wide-eyed. The air reeks of mistrust.

Screw it. 

“Well, if anyone cares, the answer is no,” Peter hisses, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. “I’m not planning anything. I’m going home now. If you still want to shoot me, Sheriff, you better make it a good one, I’m not going down easily.” 

With that, he turns around and leaves.

There is no shot. Only silence. Silence, that is way too loud. Just like the new memories, just like his words from back then. The rambling of a maniac. 

* * *

Peter doesn’t see anyone for two days. 

He mostly stays in his apartment, trying to get some order into his mind. The new memories torture him. He hates how crazy he was. How out of control.

And there is another thing nagging at him … He wants his memories back. All of them. He knows there are still blank spaces in his head. Things Talia took from him. He wants them back. They are _his_ memories, after all. So he spends hours on research on how to retrieve them. 

When the moon is almost full and his eyes burn from reading, Peter decides to take a short walk, to let the fresh air clear his head. 

It’s a bad decision. 

He walks through the forest and is so caught up in his own head, he doesn’t notice the trap. Suddenly, he is dangling from a tree, the world jumping up and down. Peter swears under his breath, groaning and trying to heave his body up to look at the trap. It’s not the first time he has stepped into one of these, he’s going to be fine. 

At least he thinks so, until he hears the quiet chuckle. It makes him freeze. No. It can’t be … 

Steps approach him and a shadow appears between the trees. Peter growls. Hatred replaces every other feeling, as he inhales the familiar scent. The moon’s light falls on Kate Argent, smiling brightly and carrying a shotgun over her shoulder. 

The bitch really is back. 

“Look who it is,” Kate singsongs, looking up at him with glee in her eyes. “Did no one tell you wolves aren’t supposed to prowl around all alone?” she chuckles and grins when Peter growls again. “Yes, I’m very alive, mutt. How does it feel to know you fucked your revenge up? You were living for it, it was the only thing that kept you moving, and now I am still here, alive and even evolved. How does it feel, huh?” 

And under Peter’s shocked glare, she grows fangs and claws, her face turning a darker colour and her eyes gleaming green. _Werejaguar._ She is a fucking werejaguar. Peter turned her. Gods … He wants to scream at the universe. 

Kate smirks and runs her tongue over her fangs. “Hmmm. I am just about to start my own little vendetta. I think I’ll start with you. It’s going to feel good. Like closure. You escaped when I set fire to your house, but you can’t escape me now. I think I use fire again, just for the nostalgic touch, light you up right here like a torch. Or I make Derek join us and let you watch as I take him apart piece by piece, what do you say?” 

Peter fights the rising rage down. He has to stay calm. There is something in Kate’s eye, something in the way she clenches and unclenches her fists, that makes him _think_. He knows this behaviour. Knows it from pups who can’t keep their wolf still yet. 

“You have no control,” he tells Kate, trying a smirk of his own. It is a bit difficult with the blood running downwards into his head and the dizziness. “You can’t control what’s inside you, Argent.” 

Kate growls at that, all glee abruptly gone. Ah, yes. The mood swings are there too ... “Shut up,” Kate snaps. But oh, she looks stricken. 

Peter knows he hit a sore spot. Now, he has to use it. “I could teach you,” he tells Kate. “I taught many shapeshifters to control their animal side. I can teach you too, if you let me down.” 

Kate frowns and surprise fills her eyes, along with a hint of desperation. She is fast to hide it again. But not fast enough. Peter has seen it all. 

“You want to teach me? Do you really expect me to believe you?” Kate scoffs, circling him, her fingers beating a restless drum on her gun. “There is no reason why you should help me.” 

“Well, we do have something in common. We both hate Scott McCall,” Peter argues. 

Kate stops her pacing and arches a brow. She looks interested now and tilts her head in an animalistic kind. “What do you want, Hale?” 

It comes easy over his lips. So easy. It could almost be true. A part of it is. “I want power. And my memories. All of them.” 

Kate hums. “The first one is no surprise. But what makes you think I could help with memories?” 

“Not you. But there is someone who was able to give memories back to some Berserkers. A shaman woman. The people of her tribe call her the Bear Handler. She made them remember who they were before they were made into mindless warriors. I want to know if she can retrieve my memories too. Find her for me, and I’ll teach you how to control the beast inside of you,” Peter offers, breathless after talking so much. The world blurs in front of his eyes and he blinks, trying to focus again. He needs to get back on the ground, before he passes out … 

Kate hesitates. She frowns. Peter can see her thinking. 

“You will help me kill McCall? A True Alpha? A teenager?” Kate eventually asks, doubt in her voice. 

“I will,” Peter says, as firmly as possible. “There is nothing Scott can give me. He doesn’t want me in his pack, and this is my family’s land. It’s always been Hale territory. Scott stole it. I’m going to take it back.” 

Kate studies him a moment longer, then nods in satisfaction. “We have a deal,” she snarls, retrieving a knife and cutting the rope. Peter falls and lands on his hands and knees, drawing in some deep breaths. 

Kate steps in front of him, crouching down to be on eye level with him, and Peter wishes he would be in the state of killing her right now, but he isn’t. So he can just glare at her, when she smirks and runs a clawed finger down his cheek. “All the scars are gone. You are as pretty as you’ve been before the fire, yet completely alone. You like the tragedy that is your life, don’t you?” she purrs and laughs, getting up and turning around. 

She doesn’t see the hate in his eyes. The hate and the promise of death. 

Too bad Werejaguars can’t sense lies. 

* * *

Peter thinks to see the shock and betrayal in Stiles’ amber eyes is one of the worst things he has ever experienced. 

Time seems to slow around them. There are gunshots and screams and howls. It’s a mess. 

But when Stiles looks at him, everything else fades into the background. 

“You are working with her?!” Stiles asks, his voice trembling and his hands clenched into fists. “How can you … She killed your family!” 

Peter shrugs. He forces himself to be stoic. Cold. Like stone. He did it before, he can do it again. “She’s of use to me. She can control the Berserkers."

“I thought this means something to you,” Stiles whispers and Peter’s heart clenches. “I thought … I believed in you. Nevermind. I guess, you really are just a power hungry asshole.” With that, Stiles turns away. 

Peter wants to take everything back. He wants to tell Stiles how much this actually means to him. He wants to tell Stiles that he loves their movie evenings, loves that Stiles lets him scent-mark him, loves that Stiles defended him, loves … He loves Stiles. The realisation is sharp and painful. He is in love with Stiles. 

_I’m sorry_ , he thinks, watching Stiles run to save Scott. _I hope there will be time to tell - show - you the truth._

* * *

“It didn’t work!” Kate yells, slamming her clawed fist against the wall. “Why didn’t it work!” 

“He’s a true Alpha,” Peter says calmly, looking over to where Scott stands, breathing heavily, the Berserker mask broken at his feet. He glares at Peter and snarls. Liam, Malia and Kira surround him, glaring too. Peter feels almost fond of them. They are only pups, but they think they can take on the world. 

“Well,” Kate snarls, smirking at Peter. “I guess we have to do it your way, then.” 

“Yes,” Peter agrees. He shifts, looking at Scott the whole time. “My way it is. I’m going to take it all back now.” 

Kate snickers. She shifts as well. Today, she doesn’t have her gun. No wolfsbane bullets. Only herself and her shift. So confident of herself. She told Peter where to find the shaman. And now, everything will end, one way or another. 

Scott’s eyes blaze red as he gets ready to fight, dropping his claws and growling. “Traitor,” he snaps at Peter. “I knew it!” 

“You should have done something sooner, then,” Peter tells him mildly. He looks at Kate. “You can do what you want, but the True Alpha is mine,” he tells her. 

Kate nods eagerly, flexing her muscles. “I think I’m going to start with your spawn then,” she chuckles, her eyes focusing on Malia. “Since she means nothing to you anyway.” 

The spark of rage is sudden and violent. It makes him act sooner than he actually wanted. Peter roars, and under the confused looks of the others he lunges at Kate, digging his claws into her flesh and trying to get at her throat with his fangs. Kate makes a surprised angry noise when she falls. 

The moment of surprise is on Peter’s side, but not that long. Kate’s new instincts make her react fast. She kicks him and he loses his grip, landing on his back. Kate is on him in seconds, her claws digging into his stomach and pulling. It hurts like hell, but he ignores it and gets his own claws into her chest, making her roar. They roll over the stone floor, intertwined, their blood mingling. 

Peter is not as strong as he once was, due to resurrection and unstable pack bonds. However, the rage and hatred cursing through his veins helps and he pins Kate, holding her arms to the floor with his, his fangs hovering over her throat. She stares up at him, eyes spitting venom. “You fucking liar!” she snarls, gritting her teeth. “You have no honor, you fucking piece of useless shit!” 

“You should have never believed I would work with the murderer of my family,” Peter tells her. And then, he rips her throat apart with his teeth. His world consists of blood and the feeling of her fading heartbeat. Her last breath sounds agonized. Good, Peter thinks coldly, sitting back to look at her, watching her shocked eyes going dull. _Good_. 

Now, Kate Argent is dead. And she will never return. 

“Peter.” 

The voice cuts through Peter’s thoughts. Stiles … He looks up and sees Stiles standing beside the others, his face shocked and eyes filling with disbelief. 

“Stiles. I’m sorry,” Peter says. Stiles doesn’t answer. Instead, he pales. It’s alright. Peter knows how he must look, with Kate’s blood all over his face. He opens his mouth to repeat his apology, but suddenly, he feels very weak. The world sways and he groans, falling to his side. 

Stiles is at his side in a second, his hands trembling as they hover over Peter’s body. “Fuck,” Stiles breathes. “Fuck …” 

Peter realises he must be really hurt. Huh. He didn’t even notice. The world blurs and starts to swim in black dots. He wants to close his eyes. But when he does, Stiles slaps him surprisingly hard, telling Peter to stay with him. 

Peter tries. He really tries. 

He focuses on Stiles’ amber eyes that swim in tears. He wants to tell Stiles that he loves him, but when he opens his mouth, he gets nothing out but a weak groan. 

“I know,” Stiles says, laying a trembling hand on Peter’s forehead. “Just … stay with me. Help is coming. God. You fucking idiot. I can’t believe you!” 

Peter smiles weakly. He grips Stiles’ hand and holds on to it like to a lifeline. 

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asks, not for the first time. 

“No,” Peter simply says. 

Stiles just nods. 

They are driving through the wilderness, following the coordinates Kate gave Peter. He hopes they are right. If not, he at least had a nice calm trip with Stiles. 

Some time has passed since he killed Kate and the Berserkers died with her. Since he woke up on a table at Deaton’s clinic, with Stiles sleeping in a chair beside him. It was a close call. Kate had basically torn his stomach to shreds and his body couldn’t keep up with healing. 

When Stiles woke up, he yelled a lot. But in the end, he just reached for Peter’s hand, squeezing it firmly. 

They have talked a lot since then. About their relationship. And they agreed on taking one step after the other, slowly. 

Noah apologized to Peter. Scott did too. Malia appears at his apartment occasionally, asking him questions about their past. About the family she didn’t meet. Maybe, things are about to get better again. Maybe. 

But first, Peter has to do this. If it is possible. He is glad Stiles is with him. He is not so happy that Stiles insisted on taking the Jeep, because it feels like the damn thing is going to break apart any moment, but he can live with it. 

The coordinates turn out to be right.

Soon, Peter finds himself laying on his back on a bearskin, staring up at the blue sky, while the Bear Handler, a white-haired elderly woman with wisdom in her brown eyes, kneels behind him, pressing the flats of her hands against the sides of his head. “Ready?” the shaman asks him. 

Peter doesn’t know if he could ever be ready for this. But he nods.

“Close your eyes and relax,” she tells him. He does so. First, there is nothing. Just darkness. But then, it comes to him like a wave. Colorful memories, flooding his mind. He gasps and tries not to flinch away. Tries to just lay there and relax, to let it happen. 

It seems to go on forever. When it is over, he is crying. The tears are blurring the sky. 

Stiles is lingering close, biting his lip and looking worried. 

The shaman helps Peter to sit up and hands him a cup of water. He drinks it with a mumbled thank you, trembling from the onslaught of pictures. God. It’s all there. How he held Malia for the first time, feeling all proud. He actually named her after Talia. After the very woman who betrayed him and took his memories of the baby, when she decided to give her away, because she wasn’t born as a wolf and she feared for her reputation among the packs. She took his memories because he was ready to fight for his daughter. Ready to kill.

The memories of Maila are definitely the most beautiful. There are others, which are just terrifying. He remembers the first time he killed, the first time he was nothing but a tool for the Alpha. He remembers his parent’s rejection and how they were never satisfied, no matter what he showed them to impress them. He remembers the pain of his father punishing him for daring to stand up and say he could be Alpha one day too, because he was strong and smart and knew so much more about the Supernatural than his sister. Know your place, his father had said and his claws had left red lines. Know your place or be exiled and survive on your own, it’s your choice. 

Peter doesn’t know why Talia took all these memories. Maybe, once she started, she couldn’t stop. Or it was a burst of pity that made her take more than she wanted. 

He takes some deep breaths and massages his temples, watched by the shaman. “A lot of pain, a lot of sorrow,” she says, tilting her head. “I can make you forget too, you know. If you want me to.” 

Peter shakes his head. “No. Forgetting won’t change anything. It would be just another way of running. I’ve done enough running in my life. I need to process it.” 

The shaman nods and smiles. “I see. A wise decision.” 

* * *

The ride back is silent. 

Peter looks out the window and feels more exhausted than ever. He needs a nap. 

“You know,” Stiles says almost casually, “Deaton sent me the number of a therapist. He knows about the Supernatural, so you don’t have to hide anything.” 

Peter nods, leaning his face against the cool window pane. “Good,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. Now that he has everything back, he maybe can finally working on putting himself back together, on learning how to see himself as someone who deserves happiness. He wants to do that, for himself and for Stiles. For what they have now and hopefully will have in the future. The future ... It's been long that he has not been living in the moment, trying to repress the past and doubt the future. But now he has something good waiting for him. And he will work for it.

Shutting his thoughts off, Peter falls asleep in the matter of minutes, while listening to the comforting noise of Stiles’ even heartbeat. 


End file.
